


Palms on Your Bones

by Oscarthegrouch



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Aging, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Chiropractor Holden Ford, Chiropratic Adjustements, Developing Relationship, Divorcee Bill Tench, Doctor Patient Relationship, Exhausted Bill Tench, FBI Agent Bill Tench, Kissing, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smug Holden Ford, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:42:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21976774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oscarthegrouch/pseuds/Oscarthegrouch
Summary: Holden Ford is a Doctor, passionate about the body, somatics and respecting the most important tool mankind was given: the human body. Bill Tench is an exhausted FBI-agent who's work is given top priority, to the detriment of his health.
Relationships: Holden Ford/Bill Tench
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	Palms on Your Bones

**Author's Note:**

> I need to go to the chiropractor's badly, I'm fantasizing about getting adjusted hence the fic. Probably the first adjustment porn fic out here.

Chapter 1: Talk to your body

Smoke reluctantly comes out of half split lips. Bill watches it go, head leaning back to hit the gray wall. The colors aren't too welcoming and he hopes it means the guy in there knows what he's doing.

He hasn't gone to the chiropractor since forever. It makes him feel old, he's hitting the 50s mark in a few weeks and before he can ponder more on it he sucks on his cigarette.

The doors opens and an old woman leaves the office. She seems happy enough, shaking the Doctor's hand enthusiastically as she bids him goodbye.  
Bill's eyes slip from the man's hands to his face, where his lips have fallen to a grimace.

''You can't smoke here.'' the Doctor says rigidly.

Bill gives him an apologetic smile, trying to placate the obvious anger. He's usually good at taking in his surroundings. Obviously he had stormed in and dropped on a chair without a second glance to the waiting room. If he had, he'd seen the ''no smoking'' sign earlier.

''Sorry, I wasn't thinking.'' he stumps his butt on a cooking magazine, lifting his eyes up to watch the Doctor's reaction.

Dr. Ford's nostrils are still flared but he relaxed his jaw, which is good enough for Bill. ''Really sorry about that.'' he adds. He gets up to get the window, opening it wide to vent the smell of his slip up.

Dr. Ford bids him in. They shake hands at the threshold, his tone is back to even: ''Hello Mr. Tench.''  
Bill only gives him a smile, he steps in and takes a look around. The office he's invited in is scarce. There are no posters, just the diploma, framed and standing overhead the desk chair of the practitioner.  
Bill doesn't really like Doctors. They are a competing form of authority and the absence of possibility to argue on equal grounds with them makes him uncomfortable.

Doctor Ford goes around his desk to sit down and Bill imitates him.

''How are you ?'' the Doctor asks without really taking a pause to allow an answer, ''On the phone you said you were experiencing pain in your shoulders and numbness in your left hand?''

''That's right Sir.'' he says, trying to relax his shoulders. He watches the man open a virginal file and write diligently into it. _A bit of a stick in the mud,_ he thinks, noticing the filed nails and the perfect side split of the Doctor's haircut.

''How long have you gone without an adjustment ?'' their eyes meet as he lifts them up from the patient information page. They're blue just like Bill's.

''It's been a while'' Bill admits. He straightens against the chair and makes his neck pop reflexively. Doctor Ford lifts his head back up and Bill wonders if he did something wrong.

''Can you do that on both sides ?'' he inquires, putting the pen down.

''Ah. No, it's acquired.'' Bill answers as he stands up, mirroring the Doctor. Bill watches the Doctor's hands go to the antibacterial pump to wash his hands. As the Doctor does so he asks : ''You sleep on your stomach ?''

''Yeah, I do is that bad ?''

''Well assuming you sleep with your head on one side you probably lost some flexibility.''

Bill tests his neck, noticing for the first time that it won't go as far on the right side as it does on the left. He's watched critically as he does so. ''The spine prefers to remain straight and without pressure'' the Doctor admonishes.

Bill's eyebrow quirks as he hears the personification. ''It's the way I sleep the best.'' he justifies. It doesn't seem to convince the Doctor who levels with him. ''Well then it's no use adjusting your neck if you're going to go right back at twisting it.''

Bill's eyes bulge at the insolent tone. He's a big man, a big man that works in law enforcement with military history. He's not used to defiance, though he doesn't get angry. He's just impressed at his gal. It's clear this is Doctor Ford's practice, who feels entitled as the soul authority in here; Bill is a patient and doesn't know better.

Bill thinks of protesting. Of saying he'll try but if he's honest he has been smoking like a trucker lately. With the moving in and all, he hasn't been taking good care of himself, eating take out and waking up at odd hours...It's something else to add on the list of things he pushes under the rug.

Doctor Ford leads him to an adjoining room and asks him to strip to his underwear behind the screen in the far right corner. He informs him that he can keep his socks on. Bill scoffs at that. Last time he had gone he had his shirt on too, but he thinks better of questioning the man.

When his belt falls to the ground he realizes that he's self conscious. He hasn't been naked in front of anybody except Nancy, since he left the military. He feels a bit ridiculous in his white socks as he folds his pants and he tries not to think about the flab he's acquired on his stomach over the years. Especially after the divorce. He does have a belly now, he needs to come to terms with it. Just like a typical 50 year old man.

He steps out head held high, uncomfortable with having his chest exposed in front of this younger man. Dr. Ford barely looks up, he lets him walk in front of him. He gestures Bill to face the wall. ''I'm doing a full check up since you haven't been adjusted in a while.'' he informs. ''I'm going to ask you to try and touch your ankles...slowly'', he adds, as Bill reaches his arms out.

He grunts as he does so. He's suddenly very well aware of all the tension gathered in his hamstrings. The Doctor makes him sit on the table. He has him repeat the motion but in sitting position now and with his mildly warm palms on each side of his back, resting right above the waistband of his boxers. Dr. Fords fingers follow Bill's spine, checking for anomalies as he bends forward and up, several times all the while breathing as instructed.

Bill feels like a young child, obedient, more so now that he's exposed and the Doctor is still fully clothed in his dress pants and shirt. Those are small details that count for the subconscious. The type he'd use during interviews to establish authority.

Bill tries not to focus on the hands touching his back, especially not when they inch to close to his tail bone or his freckled shoulders. He gets self conscious of the meat accumulated up there.

''There's a lot of tension in your upper body. I can barely feel your spine through the knots'' he says more to himself than to his patient. ''You're hunched over often Mr. Tench?''

''I type a lot.''

''What about driving?''

''That too.''

''You're going to have to learn how to relax these shoulders while you do so.'' he says coming around the table and lifting Bill's chin up. He casually puts his hands on his shoulders and starts testing them by applying a slight pressure.

''Tell me if anything feels uncomfortable.''

Bill is still sitting on the table with his feet dangling down while the man's thumbs glide along his collarbone, applying an even pressure on each side.

Bill can see the birth of the Doctor's shaved hairs on his jaw being that they are so close. He spots the beauty spots, observes the grain of the skin and falters at a pale scar right under the practitioner's lower lip.

''Nothing?''

Bill's focus comes back to his own body. ''Nope, all good.''

The Doctor doesn't seem satisfied with his answer. ''Really, nothing?''

Bill shakes his head, he quirks a smile ''I'm fine Doctor.''

Doctor Ford looks at him like a an adult would look at an ignorant child: with a mildly forgiving exasperation. ''Let me rephrase then, do you feel any difference between your left and right side as I touch you?''

Bill is about to deny but the chiropractor's hands are back at following the path of his collarbone.

''Ah, maybe the right side is less uh...comfortable?''

''Right'' Doctor Ford nods. ''Your collarbone needs adjustment, you see it's slightly lower than the other it's visually noticeable.''

''Oh, I thought that was normal.''

Doctor Ford leans in and instructs him to breath. ''You're not going to feel a thing'' he reassures as he feels Bill tense up at the contact. Though it's the closeness that makes him uncomfortable rather than the fear of pain. The Doctor is bent over, his right shoulder connecting with his left collarbone as the right one is getting set back up in place.

''All done. Mr. Tench you need to listen to your body more.'' He down right looks at Bill's stomach then up at his face, eying him as if he were a thing rather than a person. ''You're not in great shape.''

Bill chocks. Feeling his patience slipping at the disregard shown by the man. He critically eyes back the Doctor, noting that he too has some chub on his hips. And an ass. He has to admit, that this man has an ass.

''How's you transit?''

Bill shifts, ''My bowls are fine.'' he says a bit abruptly, deciding that he's had enough of being treated like an infant.

''Lay down on your back now.'' the Dr. instructs not phased by his tone.

Bill closes his eyes as soon as he sees the Dr.'s face come up above him. He's sitting behind with his fine fingers sitting on his neck. Bill tenses and the Dr. taps his shoulder signifying them to drop back down. ''That what I'm talking about.''

Bill sighs through his nose, ''I need you to relax for me Mr. Tench. '' Bill winces but obeys, breathing obediently at the rhythm dictated by the practitioner. They breath together for longer than a minute, the hands warming up against his skin. Then the fingers start moving, exploring his muscles, dipping in and pressing. It's uncomfortable in a good way. Bill lets the man do his thing.

''Still awake?'' he hears him murmur. Bill grunts a response. Not wanting to get out of this sudden peaceful sensation.

''I noticed you C2 and C3 were tight. I'm going to check your stomach now'' he says still murmuring. Bill's eyes flash open as the man concentrates on his belly, eyebrows knitted as he digs into its fat. ''Self conscious or uncomfortable?'' Dr. Ford asks almost mockingly as Bill tenses once again.

He doesn't know what to answer so he does his best to relax again.

''Have you had your prostate exam yet?'' the Doctor asks out of the blue.

Bill turns towards him with his best ''why are you talking about my asshole?'' face.

Doctor Ford casually shrugs, ''Judging by your current state you haven't been taking good care of yourself. I wasn't sure you remembered. A lot of men push back this dead line.''

''You're offering?'' he snarkily replies. He can't help the mocking hostility in his tone. He feels he's perfectly qualified to take care of himself. Sure he's no athlete, but he never gets sick...except for those migraines. In fact, he thinks he's doing pretty damn good for his age.

Doctor Ford pauses as if thinking, Bill is abashed.

''Well, this is not my line of work but if you have a concern I can go on and check, to put you at ease.''

Bill listens to him say that in a casual voice, as if he weren't offering to wriggle a finger in his asshole. He almost looked genuine has he did, naive, as if he hadn't caught on Bill's sarcasm. But Bill isn't easily fooled. Ford's sympathetic tone had been laced with a mocking humor. He probably thought this would shut him up good. Internally sneering, Bill almost, almost says yes. Just to make him regret his offer. Though he has the presence of mind to realize that the process would end up with him bent over with his briefs around his ankles with a gloved finger where the sun doesn't shine. He takes a look at Doctor Fords fake face. The motherfucker would probably go through with it, enjoy it...

''I'd rather not get to third base on our first date. You've seen enough of me naked for now.'' he settles for. The Doctor fails to hide an amused smile and Bill is - oh so glad - he didn't let his pride bend him over out of spite. He always was an insolent kid. Probably hadn't helped that he had gotten used to yelling and backhands at a young age. It hadn't made boot camp fun but it had been easier on him than these untouched kids.

''Well you're not constipated and every thing's in place, that's good.'' Bill was about to say that he could have told him that himself but he's cut again: ''Your liver's a bit inflamed though. How much have you been drinking lately?''

Bill can't help flushing. ''Do most of your patients come back kid?''

The Doctor freezes. Hands hovering over his belly button and graying happy trail. His mouth puckers minutely ''I find it hypocritical to go to the Doctors yet ruin your health on the side.''

''You're calling me a drunkard now?'' The Doctor actually takes a step back. He lowers his eyes. ''No you're not a drunk.'' he carefully says.

Bill feels his patient persona slip out as he slides in his intimidating one. ''I had a big week, allowed myself to relax yesterday night, is unwinding against your policy, Doc?''

''No, that's perfectly fine...though it's not just from last night, is it?''

Bill notices the dangerous grasp of a headache warningly pulsing towards the sides of his skull.  
_Is he for real?_ Bill thinks, as he fantasizes about wringing his neck. ''You a therapist now? I know how to keep myself in check, thank you for the input, now do what I payed you for kid.''

They stay silent a while after that, he looks up at the ceiling and the Doctor concentrates on his next task. Moving about hips, his knees and ankles. Bill's almost back to being totally relaxed until he hear the Doctor's voice come in a whisper: ''I'm forty.''

Bill looks down at his feet where he's getting his ankles waggled. The Doctor looks up at the same time and they stare at each other. Bill's headache is still creeping on him so he rests his head back again. ''No you're not a kid.''

That's the closest thing the guy will get as an apology and gratefully he doesn't push for more. Bill can't help but smile at the fact that this is what seemed to bother the Doctor. He imagines that with those Bambi eyes and this soft voice he's usually taken for someone much younger.

''Lay on your stomach now.''

Bill grunts, reluctant to get up. He waits for the Doctors hands to come back on his legs before inhaling and pressing his forehead against the material.

''You're not old you know. And you have a nice body too...'' Bill makes curious noise at the admission before the Doctor can correct his Freudian slip: ''Healthy!'' he says a bit too quickly a little too late.

Bill feels that he had meant for it to be teasing but that it had come to that. He turns around with a mocking smile as he catches the man blushing. ''I mean you're not that bad.'' he tries again, eager for Bill to stop looking at him with that expression on his face. He says nothing, smug enough to roll in the compliment, feeling better about his filled pectoral and muffin top.

''Get your head back down please?'' Bill smiles as he does so, noting that the strong hold the Doctor had left with his embarrassment.

Dr. Ford plays with his legs for a bit, seemingly checking their length and comparing their flexibility. He's less smug now that his ass is facing the Doctor and his face is planted in the cushion. He grits his teeth at the natural reaction his body get as his groin is pushed in the table under the pressure of the Doctor's hands.

''Your sacrum's fine.'' he comments, back into is confident tone. ''You can face me now, I'm going to focus on your shoulder and neck problem.''

Bill sits up and Dr. Ford settles right back behind him. He breathes through his nose, bothered by the fact that he can smell the other man's shaving lotion.

''Everything okay?''

''Slight headache'' he covers.

''Tension headache?'' he inquires.

Bill shrugs, indicating the zone that's been tightening.

''A lot of stress at work?''

Bill shrugs again, ''the usual''

''Okay, lay on your back, I'm going to massage you.''

Bill tenses as Doctor Ford's hands come to his scalp. He's always been sensitive on the head. Nancy used to give him head scratches when they were still in their honeymoon phase. He forces himself to breath, soon enough it's labored as the pressure becomes unpleasant. The knots make him wince, ''it's accentuated by the fact that you look down a lot'' the Doctor supplies.  
The pads of his fingers press and roll against the tight skin of his skull, coming on the sides and catching some pebbles, which he removes with some crisscross friction. Both of their breathing align, it's a strange intimacy.

Bill keeps on grunting out of habit, till he realizes that the pain is almost gone.

''Glass of water?'' Doctor Ford asks, hands leaving Bill's head.

''Yes please.'' he replies smiling.

He watches the Doctor disappear, enjoys the way he walks away and is happy to see him come back. Doctor Ford has a discreet smile peeking on his face. Bill gulps the water down in a dutiful sort of way as the Doctor watches his throat work.

The next part is not fun. Bill almost gets paranoid and asks him if it's a way to get back at him for calling him ''kid'' but withholds. He's in pain and Doctor Ford has to remind him to breath several times. He gets his shoulders slapped for coming up so he resolves himself to making small pained sounds.

''It'll be worth it Mr. Tench'' he assures as he presses hard on the tissue. Bill's tense. Especially around the scapula and the Doctor spends a lot of time working on his surrounding muscles. Bill is grimacing, face down, only distracted by the heavier breathing sounds of the Doctor and his shiny shoes moving in and out of his periphery. He fights his body, desperate to tense against the pressure of the hands, attacking the build up, more and more. Doctor Ford twists Bill's arm behind his back in a fashion not too dissimilar from a key hold. ''What are you doing?'', he can't help but growl.  
''I'm lifting your arm to lift your scapula, see'' he demonstrates, fingers dipping under the bone. ''I want to get everything.''  
Bill makes an accepting noise and forces his shoulders back down, again. Doctor Ford works till the back of Bill is raw and red. Bill feels the toxic relief releasing him, it starts to feel good and his head swims with hormones that make him woozy.

''Almost finished Mr. Tench.'' his name sounds good. He likes that the Doctor knows his name. He wants him to know his first name too. ''Call me Bill''. His answer is muffled by his squished cheeks.

''Bill, turn on your back for me?''

Bill quirks a lazy smile at the Doctor as he gets on his back. Doctor Ford is standing diligently with his cheeks redder from the effort. It's a good look on him. Soft.

Bill settles back with a grunt. He feels gooey. He doesn't want to move. His body is so relaxed he can't filter thoughts.

His smiles widens as Doctor Ford's hands rest on his shoulders. He likes his touch. ''Man you're doing something good.'' he groggily mutters.

Doctor Ford pats his shoulder. ''That's the seretonin release speaking. Your muscles are breathing again.''

''That's good.'' he says softly.

When the soft palms of the man reach for his neck, at first he's pleasantly surprised. The more Doctor touches his body, the happier he seems. Though when the grip gets firmer, a strange unease blooms in his gut. It's blurry but takes a more acute shape when the appreciated palm settles under his jaw and the other on his forehead.

''I'll be setting your neck and then will move on to adjusting the rest. You're going to hear some cracks but that's normal.''

Bill swallows loudly. He ignores the warning signs and forces himself to comply. He ignores the tense coil of his stomach, the sudden warmth of his neck and palms. Doctor Ford starts shifting his hands to twist but Bill has a terrible flash. It's a blind perception but emotionally sharp. His hands automatically come to capture the Doctor's wrists. ''What's going on?''

The Doctor's hand waver, he does not miss on the fear. ''Your C2 and C3 are stuck. They're forcing a compensation which is pinching your nerve.'' he gently reminds him. ''I need to set them back to relieve it and if I want to get the rest of your spine Bill. I couldn't do that with your tense muscles.''

Bill bats his eyelashes a few times. He's assessing what he's feeling inside and his environment. He feels the wrists of the Doctor under his tight fingers and slowly lets go. He's scared of him touching his neck. He can't be sure how rational that fear is but all he knows it that it's there and screaming at him to run.

The Doctor exhales before gently nudging at Bill's vertebrae. ''Do you feel this Bill? This is what I want to set back'' His voice carries directly into his ear, piercing through the mist of disgust and horror he's feeling but not understanding. Bill nods slowly as the discomfort registers.

Bill suddenly sees the visual. It has him minutely grasping the edges of the table but he controls himself.  
Bill clenches his eyes. He breathes loudly, pushing away the flashes of the youngster who's neck had been wrung like a chicken's. The angle had made him nauseous then, and the sensation is coming back up, coupled with fear.  
The Doctors hands are still on his neck, though his thumbs have started drawing small circles on his tendons in an attempt of comfort. ''Mr. Tench, are you okay?''

Bill unclenches his hands a few times. He nods but fails to be convincing. He remembers the way the skin stretched over the muscles, the way the shoulder had come up protectively, the scrunched grimace that froze and stayed on the cadaver. The facial expression, the color of his sweater, his haircut. Bill feels so vulnerable, irrationally so. He understands that he's scared of dying here, right now. Neck wrung out the wrong way...it's his spine for fucks' sake, might as well be his balls. A wrong move and he'd be paraplegic.

''Mr. Tench you need to calm down, I got you. This is perfectly safe, it won't even hurt. I do this everyday. Mr. Tench?''

Bill nods again but remains ramrod straight.

''Open your eyes?'' It's asked in such a soft compassionate voice that he obliges. Slowly unclenching his eyelids to peer at the Doctor's concerned face. He loses himself in his features a second. In the straight eyebrows, the pale lips and the triangular nose.

He notices his breathing changed to match the exaggerated inhales and exhales of his Doctor. He recognizes it as a stress management technique. He stays focused on the man's face for a long time. Till his heartbeat calms, long enough for him to feel ridiculous for his outburst.

''Did something happen?'' Doctor Ford asks softly.

''No.'' he says too quickly, averting his eyes. ''Do it, I'm fine.'' he commands.

The chiropractor wants to protest. Bill sees his mouth open and shut, probably chastised by his scowl. In the end it goes perfectly fine apart from his manly squeaks at each popping sound. When Doctor Ford's hands release his skull a rush of relief gushes out with all the pent up frustration and fear he kept in.

Doctor Ford pretends he doesn't see his wet eyes and Bill pretends he can't fell the few tears escape him. They stream along his cheeks and he erases them dutifully one by one with a sense of bruning shame.

He suddenly feels exhausted. All the nice relaxation previously provided slipped away with the memories of Jeffrey Fresner's 17 year old corpse.

The Doctor takes care of his shoulders next. Doctor Ford has fallen silent, breathing harder as he exerts himself on the meat of them. He's touching, leaning on them, rolling off and making Bill regret his bad posture. He isn't phased by the shoulder adjustment to Doctor Fords' relief and when he asks Bill to turn his head, Bill realizes that he has newfound flexibility on his right side. Then he has him on his stomach and cracks the middle of his back.

''We're done Bill.''

Bill gets up slowly, he feels like Jello. Doctor Ford watches him waddle to the screen with a pained look on his face. He sees him disappear and waits on him, arms crossed over his chest.

Bill comes out looking totally wrung. Chiropractic adjustments can be tough on the body but the attempted emotional release he witnessed was due to an incredible constraint exercised on his patient's psyche. Doctor Ford does not want to lose the new found sympathy his patient has for him but he's very much compelled to talk to him about his mental condition.

''So I'd better start sleeping in another position?'' Bill says jokingly, trying to dissipate the mood.

''If you have any respect for my work you will.''

Bill scoffs. He follows the Doctor to the main room, walking carefully in his new found body. He watches the Doctor fill out in a neat and small handwriting his case file. God does he ache for a cigarette...he watches the shape of his hands, notices the curve of his small mouth, he shifts as he gets a ping of arousal at the shape of his lower one, dipping in the middle, begging to be pulled.

''Bill, do you have a bathtub?''

Their eyes meet and Bill feels sheepish at first. Ashamed of having been rude, vulnerable and difficult. He doesn't know if he should apologize.

''What about it?'' Doctor Ford look down and up again, as if shy. Bill almost says spit it out kid, but that'd be pushing it.

''I think you should take a warm bath tonight. At least an hour long. I don't want...any emotional stress ruining what we did today.'' Bill's mouth twitches. He doesn't like the word ''emotional stress''. Doctor Ford presses on. ''Your mental well being effects your physical one and vice versa.'' He breathes out loudly through his nose in preparation, understanding the last bit will get a rise out of Bill: ''You have a lot of mental stress Mr. Tench. I think it would be good for you to learn how to manage it better.''

''Manage it better, excuse me?'' he says, leaning forward. ''I'm managing just fine, I'm peachy. Actually, I'm doing great. I'm great.''

Doctor Ford pinches his lips, frustrated he's met with denial. ''Look I'm not here to judge you...''

''No you're not. You're nobody, if you saw what I saw and did what I did...'' he rages, hand rubbing his mouth, ''Considering, I'm excelling.'' he finishes, looking him straight in the eye.

''Bill, judging by the circles under your eyes, your complexion and your smoking habits I'd say your body isn't doing that great. You've just had a flashback from a trauma...''

''What fucking trauma?'' Bill says stranding up, voice rising. He stares the Doctor down, till Doctor Ford buries his face between his hands.

''Please take a warm bath, drink a lot of water. No strenuous activities for 48 hours,... that includes sex.''

''Oh for fuck's sake'' Bill groans, _The kid has no filter_.

''What you had a date tonight?''

''No, I'm single, it's just you...why are you looking at me like that?''

''You're single?''

Doctor Ford stares at him with his big blue eyes, mouth shyly open in invitation. Bill blinks, not trusting the signals he's reading. ''Doctor Ford...''

''Holden'' he corrects standing up from his chair and getting around his desk to stand next to him.

Bill stares at him from head to toe. They're the same height, not the same bulk though he's no stick figure. Doctor Ford comes closer yet, sits on the edge of his desk and looks at Bill. Bill's brain is still jumbled with too many thoughts. He almost reaches out for the man in front of him.

''Listen Bill. I just adjusted you. Hopefully your body will take care of healing and rearranging what needs correction but the body hates pain. It will compensate, invent mechanisms to avoid it. The psyche is no different. Everything is connected. I don't want you to suffer unattended strain... ''

''Your the type of guy who can't help setting pictures on walls straight, aren't you?''

Holden looks at his hands resting on his lap, then up, ''It's not so much as fixing then making sure you use your full potential. It's a waste otherwise.''

Bill sighs, he's not ready for this conversation. Especially not with a stranger. Doctor Fords lifts off. Their chests touch, Bill can count the Doctor's eyelashes if he wants to. ''Jesus you know what you want don't you?'' he murmurs, staring at the pink lips waiting for him.

''I know what I want.'' he parrots shakily. Bill's belt rub against the button of Doctor Ford's pants. Their arms stay numbly on their sides but they search each other with their eyes, breathing each other, tasting one another before unavoidably touching. Doctor Ford tips his head to meet Bill's lips. He makes a small sound of need and Bill resists the urge to clutch him to his body. He's surged by his smell, his brashness, the shape of his lips against his. He gets hard quickly, eagerly. As if something would happen here, in the Doctor's office. Doctor Ford's lips leave to come back. Tasting, savoring their combination till he too, aroused and hard has to pull away.

''I have other patients'' he pants against Bill's mouth. ''Can I call you?''

Bill blinks. He has a younger, beautiful man in his arms. He doesn't know what to make of it. He is not at ease with hook ups and casual sex. Doesn't know how to navigate relationships outside of serious ones. He fells like an awkward teenager. It doesn't make him giddy rather he feels inadequate, too old for this.  
Though he says ''yes''. Because he doesn't know how to say ''no'' right here. Doctor Ford rearranges himself in his pants. Bill forces himself to look away, he met the man today for fuck's sake.

He hands him the check and gets walked at the door.

''I'll see you later Bill.''

Bill pauses before answering, he looks into those blue eyes, shakes his head and goes for it. He catches his lips one last time. Keeps them there between his and applies pressure on them before releasing them reluctantly.

''Catch you around Holden.''

***

Bill gets out of the car. His body feels right, and somehow it's wrong, foreign. He gets home and no lights are on. No beckoning yellows warming the inside to contrast with the darkness of the exterior.  
He doesn't fail to notice that the neighboring houses are different. It's amazing how fast he got used to that; not seeing light coming from the living room window, nobody to greet him. Sometimes, knowing that things never remain terrifies him, sometimes it's a relief...

Bill jiggles his keys and marches in, forcing himself not to let his jacket simply fall to the ground. He dutifully sets it on the coat wrack and locks his house.  
He goes to fix himself some soup and waits on, sipping a beer. He has the radio station on the pop section and his foot taps dully at the songs he barely listens to. He doesn't have the energy to watch television, nor does he have the energy to clean up after himself once he's finished eating. He puts his bowl in the sink and drudges to his bedroom with a heavy step.

His slippered feet drag against the carpeting. He drowns himself in the repetitive sound before abruptly halting as he passes the bathroom door. He stands motionless in the corridor for a few seconds before deciding to toe the door open . He stares at his bathtub, disconnected with reality, Doctor Ford, Holden, had told him to take a bath.  
Bill as nothing else to do than to obey, so he does. He lets the water run and watches it spill, replaying the events of the evening in his tired, analytical mind.

When he slips in the too warm water, pain comes before relief. His skin burns with sudden over-stimulation. He tries to forget the discomfort by observing his body deformed by the water; beige deformed members under the water ripples...

He does his best to keep his shoulders down, to respect Holden's work. In the end he falls asleep in the water. He's awoken by the splash he makes when he falls in.

Toweling off when being barely awake is a true chore. He has no one to complain to so he remains silent, though his moodiness still increases. It's as if this long day won't end.

When he's finally dry, he leaves his pile of clothing on the blue tiled floor, not caring for walking naked though he is chilled by fatigue.

He manages to get into a new pair of boxers and a t-shit before reaching the bed. He stares at it, suddenly reluctant to get in, scared that tomorrow will be worse.

Eventually exhaustion has him and he fall in on his stomach, snoring loudly as if expelling the emotions he couldn't during the day.

**Author's Note:**

> Not a lot of fluff, sorry.


End file.
